


By Voice Alone

by DistantStorm



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 13:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17305397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DistantStorm/pseuds/DistantStorm
Summary: Hawthorne sends a message to the Commander. She means it as a compliment. He takes it as a challenge.





	By Voice Alone

“I bet,” He rumbles into her ear, “I could be your undoing with just the sound of my voice.”

Her head tips back and she moans, draped over his lap. She’d asked for this, when she’d sent him that message. But this was different. This was dangerous and predatory, not sweet and gentle like she was expecting.

This was so much better.

“Go ahead,” She urges, not at all trying to mask the strained urgency of her powerless dare. “Try me.”

-/

She’d been sleeping with him since the Farm, since it was  _fuck you_  and _fuck you, too_ , and tumbles in the stables atop hay bales that dug in and scratched her back while she clawed at his like an angry kitten. They’d made their peace, and the sex turned into something less angry and a bit more productive; Learning pleasure-points and how to snatch an unsuspecting orgasm from the other by any means. They were both thoughtful people by nature, and knew the other well enough to tell who needed release. (Though sometimes it was just hard and fast and fuck the rest of the details.)

It didn’t stop like they’d planned, after the war. That had been the intention, until he gave her nothing short of an hour long presentation - with a damn slideshow - of how she could impact the City’s rebuild if she stuck around. Their work-professional relationship lasted until the end of her first official week as Clan Steward, when he’d pulled her into his office on a whim to see how she fared, blinked twice, and was rocking into her splayed out over his granite-topped desk, hands pinned above her head while he tweaked her clit and she came for what felt like hours.

It wasn’t all sex, though. She had a witty mind and steadfast spirit to match his own, and didn’t back down without a fight. He just couldn’t miss the subtle flares of her nostrils or peeks of tongue and teeth she gave him in the midst of their most heated debates that said  _we’ll finish this later - naked_. When they weren’t going at it, or when it wasn’t appropriate - they had some decorum, thanks - they worked well together on projects, and communicated dangerously well.

That level of openness could, however cause some problems. For example, following a meeting of the Consensus that spoke almost entirely of financial snapshots and budget analysis (nothing Hawthorne cared about so long as the Farm’s budget was left unchanged), she had brilliantly messaged him:  _You can literally make even the most monotonous things sound sexy. Think you could get me off like that? Just by talking?_

Occasionally, when it had been a while - life, schedule conflicts, missions - things happened - one would send a blatant proposition to the other. A reminder to take some time to reconnect, whenever that might be. He hadn’t responded to that message and she was certain it was because it came through while he was attending his next meeting of the day with the jackal that ran New Monarchy. She rarely said such forward things - not that she cared much if she did - and therefore hadn’t thought much more on it. She wasn’t attempting to solicit anything from him, really. It was meant to be a compliment. He rarely responded to those types of messages, and if he did, it was with a mutually convenient time and place.

She’d been completely blindsided by this.

-/

“Tell me,” He practically purrs, and she both loves and hates herself for starting this, she’s literally burning up trying not to rut against the musculature of the thigh she’s straddling, “Do you think I could? Or,” The words tumble slowly, deeper from inside him, “Will you be able to resist?” She whimpers, but clamps down on her tongue.

Too late, though, his chuckle is icy fire down her spine. “Hands on the chair,” He directs firmly and she’s helpless to comply. She doesn’t realize how hard she’s gripping the leather molded arms until he’s whispering, “Relax,” Against the shell of her ear. He continues lower, breath ghosting over her neck and down her throat. “I know you want this. Wouldn’t it be easier if you don’t resist? Let me ease you over the edge?”

It takes her a second to reply, she’s trying to cease the squirmy pressurized feeling in her belly that makes her want to edge her hips back and forth because he’s taunting her, baiting her, and he’s so very right. She could give in and he could have her coming in a heartbeat, no doubt. But neither of them are happy with the easy way.

“We both know I’m not that easy, Zavala.”

“Oh,” He chuckles. “I think you just might be,” And honestly, if she was, she thinks, cheeks flushed from arousal and apparently transparency, he should know she’s trying to draw this out. She always goes down fighting. “But,” He murmurs, letting his head drop so that his cheek rests just above her ear, and his hands hold her hips still with a firm grip - had she been rocking them? She didn’t think so. “That’s why you’re here,” He continues, “Because you’re not getting off easy. If I had called you,” His words slow to a languid crawl, “You would be walking a hand down your front, touching yourself until you cried out and came over and over to me telling you how sweet you sound when you fall apart.” He licks his lips, and she can feel the heat of his breath, the firmness of his grasp - she’s pretty sure she’ll bruise herself fighting his grip - and the slow, unhurried pulse of his heart thrumming against her bare back. “You’ll get off,” He growls, and it’s like electricity to her clenching core, her throbbing clit, “When  _I_  tell you to.”

-/

A lot of their forays in the Tower - not the ones that led to her spending the night after a long, thorough shag in his very nice apartment - were quickies: a few were disguised as meetings(or they were intended to be, but one of them had a shit day and it just happened), but most of them started with one running into the other and asking if they had a moment. Of course, Hawthorne had a thing she did with her eyes, where her pupils widened slightly when she focused on him, and it sent a shockwave of arousal directly to his dick - she knew it too, unassuming siren that she was - and she could use that little trick from across a room to get him scrambling to find an excuse to come see her. Of course, no one was ever the wiser, and certainly if something came up - and occasionally it did - during the middle of these sorties, they’d growl their frustration and suck it up. Work came first, their Duty to the City was overwhelmingly more important than letting off some pent up sexual frustration. It also served to scare any misbehaving Guardians when their Commander had a bit of a bee in his bonnet. Y’know, remind them who was the boss around here.

When the meeting request had come, she’d thought nothing of it. An early evening meeting, with a note that they’d get something to eat after, which meant pack a change of clothes, because by getting something to eat he meant take away, and it would be eaten likely on his couch, likely in very little clothing. Not that she minded. With him - strangely enough - she could sit in underwear and nothing else (or nothing at all, really) and discuss anything from rezoning efforts to Clan support and Faction oversights, you name it, all the while watching the fractal patterns that shift, break, and rejoin underneath his skin.

What she hadn’t expected, was for the command for her to lock his office door behind her, to strip while he watched from behind his desk, eyes narrowed and storm-hazy, glowing in serious scrutiny. When they’d started this, when she was still a renegade criminal and he was a bastard commander, she’d boasted that she were up for anything. If on the off chance something did made her squeamish or bothered her, she’d share, and he would never press the envelope. His moral code, his character made him endearing. Trustworthy.

But fuck her, did she get off on him being controlling from time to time, under the guise of being powerless to resist him. In a way, she supposed, she was.

He’d watched her impassively while she’d dropped her pants to the floor, kicked them off with her boots, thrown her shirt, poncho, composite armor, and bra on a conveniently placed chair. When she hooked her fingers through the sides of her underwear and slid them down, he didn’t even blink. She toed off her socks without comment. When she lifted her head to him, tilted to the side in silent question, he motioned for her to come around with a crook of his fingers.

Once she’d stood beside him, he swiveled in the chair to take in her appearance. Hummed his approval. Didn’t touch, though, didn’t grab her chin or pull her in for a kiss like she’d expected. He’d only patted his thighs, and with a smirk that told her she was in for some serious trouble, told her to take a seat.

-/

At one point, he’d told her to close her eyes. She’d fought him on that, too, but somewhere along the way, between describing the dusky blush of her pert nipples, and the rippling of muscles in her abdomen when he was sure her pussy was clenching on what she wished was him - cocky bastard - she’d found her eyes fluttering closed.

“You’re so good for me,” He tells her, and she hums, a quiet drone in the silence of his office. She’s past the point of pretending it doesn’t bother her, that she’s going to keep completely still, her muscles aching and clenched and desperate for anything to fill her. “Look at you,” He says, “Breasts heaving with every breath, little moans I doubt you even know you’re making. Are you close?”

She makes a gurgling sound, but sighs. “Closer,” She compromises.

“Still don’t want to give it up? You know I’ll fuck you if you wish, all you have to do is ask me to give the order. You know you would like to,” He encourages. She’s all gooseflesh and friction-seeking. “You know how good it will feel to just - let - go.”

She sighs at that, tilting her head to rub against his neck. It’s breaking the rules, but she can’t unfeel the hardness pressing eagerly against her ass. He hums as she speaks, breathy and demanding. “More,” She breathes. “Give me more.”

“I’ve given you plenty,” He rumbles, barely more than a whisper of sound. She whimpers. “I’ll give you everything, but only if you’re good. Only if you listen.”

“I am,” She agrees. When he doesn’t speak again, only breathes slow and deep, his chest against her back, she continues. “I’m listening, Zavala.”

“Are you?” He asks, indulgently. “Your hips are moving, Suraya. Don’t you dare think about coming without me telling you to,” His words are a growl, predatory and demanding. It makes her burn hotter, makes her gasp. “I’ll tell you when you’ve earned it.” She tries to relax, tries not to move but it’s too hard. She’s too tightly wound. “You want it, don’t you?” She nods, eyes squeezed shut. “Think about it,” He encourages, “How should I do it? How should I take you once you come?”

“I-”

“Think about it,” he tells her. “How will I fill you up?”

She stammers, body shaking, unaware that her motions are only encouraging the overwhelming desire that courses through him as well. Titans are patient, and Zavala prides himself on being a cut above the rest. He smiles when she whines, her nails leaving indents in the leather arms of his desk chair. He’ll enjoy them later, when he rubs his fingers over them and knows exactly what they’re from. “Ah-hah I want-”

“Yes?” It’s said so innocently, as if she’s asking him what form to fill out to request additional funds. “You want-”

“Zavala, please.”

“I can’t help,” He says, sounding so very unremorseful. “I can only talk you through it,” He says. “Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me.”

“How?”

“However,” She gasps, “Just, please.”

“So desperate,” He coos. “You’re forgetting the most important thing.”

Oh, but she isn’t. She knows she’s teetering on the edge, pausing for infinity, waiting for him to give the order.

“If I ask,” She grits, “Will you let me?”

“I don’t know,” He says, and the playfulness to his voice makes her keen. “Will you beg?”

“Talk me through it,” She replies. Her eyes blink open, clouded by lust and desire when they half-focus on him. It’s all she can allow. “Please. Tell me to come.”

“Talk you through it,” Zavala echoes. “Tell you to let your pussy clench around nothing?” He can feel the tensing of her hips on their upcycle of motion. Knows she’s enthralled, his word becoming her truth. “Tell you to think about me filling you, think about how full I’ll make you feel, how I’ll stretch you out, make you come so many times you won’t remember to count?” He smiles as she lets out a more primal sound. “Suraya,” He urges, “Tell me: do you want to come?”

“N-hg-nyeah,” She groans. “Please. I want to-”

“So needy,” He says reverently, “If only you could see how you look right now.” He pauses for what feels like eternity, her panting breath and broken sobs the only sound in the silence of the room. Finally, finally he gives her permission. “Let go,” He says, so close to her ear she can feel his lips only atoms away. “Come, Suraya. Let me see.”

And oh, does she come. It’s the longest, loudest orgasm she’s ever had, different - deeper than one brought on by normal stimulation. She swears she sees stars, and he decides there’s nothing more perfect in the solar system than her coming undone by his voice alone.


End file.
